Words in the Dark
by GMsTales
Summary: Note: I'm currently GM-ing for a Dresden Files RPG group. The stories I'm posting here are based on our gaming sessions, and characters. Characters are original work, but most are not mine. The ones that aren't mine are used with the permission of their creators.


Words in the Dark:

Cara Anderson was most of the way through her evening at the booth that she ran in a back room of the Divine Goddess boutique when the apparition appeared and asked her for help. The boy was dressed in threadbare rags, hand-me-downs likely from the Salvation Army, that had seen better days. His one good eye was brown, the other was a mass of purplish bruise, swollen completely shut. The boy's nose was destroyed, a flattened mass of tissue. He extended his right hand to Cara, and in a pleading voice, said "Can you see me? I need you to help me! No-one can see me, and they got away with it!" Cara's face turned anguished, mirroring the pain she felt for this poor young man. She had been running her booth for several years, helping the dearly departed pass messages to their loved ones, and settling the minds of their families and letting the spirits of the dead pass to their final reward. Sometimes she came across a spirit such as this; this boy was obviously the victim of a violent death, and Cara was just as obviously going to have to help make sure the boy's killers were brought to justice in order to help him rest. "Hello. My name is Cara Anderson, and I'm going to help you. Were you attacked? Did you see who it was that attacked you? First thing first, though: What's your name?" Upon hearing these words from Cara, the boy visibly relaxed. His shoulders sagged with relief, and his good eye gleamed with hope as he wiped the lank and greasy hair out of it. "Thank you. Thank you so much!" He beamed at her over and past the table and chair between them. "My name is Jeffrey, Jeffrey Shiwak. You can really see me?" Cara nodded, and the poor boy's excitement mounted, his words coming out in a rush. " My car wouldn't start so I was walking home from work. I was going through Erindale, and two guys came up to me. They were drunk and they said 'You're in the wrong neighbourhood, you dumb-fuck Indian.' Then they did some kind of karate or something. They beat me up and curb-stomped me when they got me down. They just kept kicking and kicking me, over and over again. I blacked out. When I woke up, no-one could see me or hear me. I've been walking around for almost a whole week. Can you help me?" Cara looked into the poor boy's pleading eye, and there was only one thing she could say: "Of course I'm going to help you. Can you describe them? What did they look like?" "They were white guys. One was tall, and had blonde hair. He was wearing a red bunnyhug and jeans. The other guy was short. He had brown hair. He was wearing a t-shirt with a guy doing a karate kick on it." Cara nodded and turned to a cabinet on the wall behind her. She opened the door and rooted around for a short time, taking out a small translucent crystal about the size of her fist. Cara put the crystal on the table, and said to the ghost: "I'll help find your killers and bring them to justice. If you want to come with me, you can ride along inside this gem. It will protect you from the sunlight." The spirit cried, then for several moments. When his sobs subsided, he walked up to the crystal and put his right hand on it. The crystal glowed with a soft white light, and Jeffrey's form dissipated into vapour. Instead of dispersing, however, the vapour was gathered into the gem. It pulsed with a soft white light once, and then faded back to the dull glow.

In the light of dawn, Cara trudged dejectedly back to her apartment. She had spent the night consulting the spiritual community of Saskatoon, a hidden world consisting of the dead and not-at-all departed. When people pass on, many go on to their reward, but in some cases a strange thing happens: While the soul passes along, a ghost is formed; an impression in the fabric of the universe in the shape of the soul leaving it. These impressions don't have the same metaphysical weight that a real soul does, but they retain a number of the characteristics of the person they represent. This means that when a person with a mission dies, sometimes a ghost with a mission is born. They form the basis for a network of informants and helpful persons that Cara can call upon, giving her the ability to put eyes in every corner of the city. Cara had been spending the night calling, talking to, and being frustrated by, the ghosts of her city. No-one, it seemed, had seen the attack on Jeffrey Shiwak. That was understandable, since ghosts naturally tend to take more notice of the supernatural than the mundane. The lack of notice from the ghosts of Saskatoon meant that she would have to go about her investigation the old-fashioned way: trying to find a martial-arts studio with two members who matched the descriptions she was given. First, a nap. Then, a trip through the yellow pages.

After two days of interviews with martial arts studio owners and proprietors, Cara finally hit pay dirt at Kopojutsu Saskatoon on the third afternoon. This dojo had been owned and operated for more than two decades by Greg Wheelock, who opened it in the early nineties. When Cara got there to meet him, she was met at the door by a young man in his twenties, with short hair and dark eyes that shone with intelligence and good humour. "Hello Ms. Anderson! My name is Mark Manners. If you'll follow me, I'll take you to meet with Sensei Wheelock. They shook hands, and Cara followed the young man through a main floor that had been converted some time ago into an open plan training center. The flooring was done in hardwood, with tatami style mats placed evenly throughout at two-meter intervals. The wall to their right was covered floor to ceiling with mirrors, which gave the room an impression of cavernous size, despite it's modest dimensions. Past this area Mark led Cara into a closed off area, including four offices. One of those had an open doorway, and was obviously being used for equipment storage. Another with an open door contained a meticulously tidy desk, in an office as scrupulously clean as the rest of Kopojutsu Saskatoon. The third door was closed, and had a curtain on the inside of its frosted glass. Mark led Cara through the fourth door, motioning for her to sit in a leather chair across a scuffed and beaten-up desk from its occupant, presumably Mr. Wheelock. His complexion was sallow, and his hunched posture gave no indication that this man was the heart of a thriving martial arts club in the heart of the city. His obvious ill health in discord with the freshly maintained equipment and brilliantly clean and polished mirrors and floor of the club. "Hello Ms. Anderson" said the old man, more than a hint of quaver in his voice, "Mark tells me you need to ask some questions about a couple of our members." "Thank you for seeing me today," Cara replied "I'm here looking into the death of a young man last week. A witness at the scene mentioned seeing two young Caucasian men. One was tall and blonde, wearing a red hoodie and jeans. The other was shorter and dark-haired. The witness said he was wearing a shirt with an image of someone performing a high kick on it. Do you have some kind of photographs of your members that I could look at?" The old man looked over to Mark, who opened the office door. "We've got some group photos of our last tournament that we put up in the change-room. If you'll follow me, Ms. Anderson?"

Mark led Cara out of the office, and into the third room. Fifteen small-sized lockers lined the far wall, and there was a bench to the right of the door, running the length of the wall. None of this was of interest to Cara, however. What was of interest to her was the framed photograph in the center of the wall to the left of the door. Seventeen young men, and seven young women were lined up in this photograph, smiling for the camera. Cara pulled the glowing crystal globe from her pants pocket, and raised it up, saying "Jeffrey, do any of these people look familiar?" The spirit of Jeffrey Shiwak wafted out of the crystal like so much smoke, then solidified into the same beaten-up and bruised young man Cara met three days ago. Jeffrey peered intently at the photograph for a moment, and then his eye blazed with a red glow and he pointed at two of the young men in the photograph. First one, then the other. "THEM. IT WAS THEM WHO KILLED ME! I. WILL. HAVE. MY. REVENGE!" The voice of the apparition had taken on an aspect of resonance and volume that it hadn't had before. Then its hand blazed with a spectral flame, and the photograph burned with real ones, so hot that the glass melted into runnels and dripped onto the floor. In moments, the charred remains of the frame fell empty to the floor. Mark jumped back with a yelp "Yikes! What did that?!" At that same time, Cara's attention was on the specter. "Jeffrey, listen to me. Look at me! These two are going to be brought to justice. Jeffrey! We'll turn them in to the police, Don't do anything you'll regret, Jeffrey! You've trusted me so far, trust me a little while longer, and it'll all work out. Trust me!" While she spoke, Cara funnelled a small measure of her power into her voice, making it more persuasive to the spirit than it might otherwise have been. Luckily, it had the desired effect. The flaming glow in his eye faded, and the spectral flames around his hand disappeared. The spirit sagged in upon himself, and when he spoke, his voice returned to its regular volume and cadence. "Third from the left in the back row, and second from the right in the second row. It was them. It was them." He faded into mist, and filtered back into Cara's gemstone. Mark grabbed Cara's shoulder, and spun her around "What just happened? You were looking at the picture, then I saw something, then the picture started on fire, then you were talking to someone who isn't here, but there was _something_ in the room with us. Now it's good again. So tell me, Ms. Anderson, what the hell are you into?" Cara looked at him for a moment, trying to gauge how much to tell him. After a moment's careful consideration, she decided to tell him everything. "My name is Cara Anderson, but you know that already. What you might not know is that I can see the spirits of the recently departed, and I help them solve their unfinished business and pass on. The two young men I was asking about killed a young man named Jeffrey Shiwak. His shade came to me a couple of days ago, seeking help bringing his killers to justice. What you saw just now was him reacting to seeing his killers. He almost lost control, turning into a violent spirit called a revenant, but I talked him down." Cara lifted her lightly glowing gemstone and looked down at it. "He's riding in this gemstone for now, trusting me to find them for him. They were the one third from the left in the back row, and second from the right in the second row. Is there any way we can find out who they are?" Cara looked to Mark, pleading in her eyes. "I really need to find those boys, and bring them to the police." Mark's gaze alternated between her eyes and the glowing gemstone in her hand. "Is this for real?" Cara paused for a moment, then said "I can prove it to you. Jeffrey, come out please. I have someone here who can help us. Will you say hello?" She infused her voice with a small sliver of her power, offering it to the spirit to let it take a corporeal form. The spirit seeped out of the gemstone, and solidified into the shape of the young man. Mark jumped back, his arms and stance forming into a defensive posture for a moment, until he visibly forced himself to relax. "Hello" he said to the apparition, "who are you?" Jeffrey turned to Mark and pleaded: "Please help me, sir. I need justice. I can't move on until they confess."

Mark and Cara met with officer Tyler Lamont at the Station Place restaurant for their midday meal the next day. "Cara, I would like for you to meet officer Lamont. Tyler is a friend of mine who trains at the dojo. He's going to come with us to talk to Jordan and Christopher." Jordan and Christopher were the boys Jeffrey had pointed out on the second copy of the photograph that was hanging in Mark's office. After sharing a meal and discussing the situation, they went back to Kopojutsu Saskatoon, where the two young men were waiting in the reception area. "Sensei Mark! What's up? You said on the phone that you wanted to talk to us?" The taller, blond young man called as they entered, offering a hand for a high-five to Mark. Mark didn't take it. His normally bright eyes were dull in a face graven with the lines of sadness. "We know what happened last week, Jordan. You and Christopher need to tell the officer here your side of it." Cara said in a sympathetic tone. The short dark-haired man reddened. "We didn't mean-" The taller young man grabbed his arm and pulled him around to hiss "Shut up, Christopher!" he turned back toward Cara, Mark and the officer "We don't know anything about that." He turned to Christopher and hissed "shut up. Let me do the talking, and we'll be ok." turning back to Cara, the officer and Mark "What happened last week?" he crossed his arms, eyes defiant and posture well and truly closed. Cara looked at that, and thought to herself that that posture, more than anything else, told her that these were the guilty boys. She took the opportunity to speak up. "Jeffrey Shiwak's spirit came to me a few days ago and told me everything. He told me how you beat him to death, you two. If you confess to the police, things will go better for you; your conscience will be clear, and you can atone for your crime. Jeffrey's spirit will be able to pass on to his final rest. You boys should just confess." Cara looked at them, and They each met her gaze: Jordan with his sullen glare, and Christopher with a miserable stare. Jordan walked farther into the dojo, dragging Christopher behind him, their three accusers following behind. They walked to the equipment locker, and Jordan took out two katanas from a rack. Jordan passed one katana to Christopher, and brandished the other at Cara. "I'm not going to admit anything to you, you stupid cow. We're going to leave here right now. Anyone who tries to stop us is going to get hurt." Jordan advanced, backing Cara toward the front door of the dojo. Christopher advanced alongside him, menacing officer Lamont with his blade. Suddenly a blinding light emanated from Cara's pants pocket, and when the light had faded Jeffrey Shiwak's shade was standing next to her, a terrible visage. He grabbed the blade of Jordan's katana, and his eye and hand blazed with phantom fires that heated the blade to a cherry red hue in the space of a single second. Jordan screamed and dropped the katana to the ground, where it bounced and smoked, leaving small burnt patches on the floor. The revenant spirit raised his flaming hand, pointing at Jordan. Jordan blew back, as if taken by some unseen force. It propelled him backward with ever-increasing speed until he slammed against the mirrored wall, cracking one of the panels with the force of his impact. Mark took the opportunity presented by this distraction. He lunged toward Christopher, lashing out with his hands. Mark grabbed Christopher's hands, locking them on the handle of the katana and sweeping them in an arc that ended somehow with Christopher flipping head over heels and landing on his back on the hard wooden floor of the dojo. Once Christopher was on the ground, Mark lashed out, kicking the sword and sending it skittering across the hardwood floor to impact against a wall hung with photos and framed belts. Officer Lamont stepped forward, restraints at the ready, only to be blown back almost to the door as the now blazing revenant stepped over to the groaning youth and picked him up with one hand to hang limply at eye level. "I WILL HAVE JUSTICE! YOUR PAIN WILL BRING ME JUSTICE! FEEL THE PAIN! FEEL IT!" The single blazing eye locked onto the left eye of the hapless youth, who started screaming a high-pitched shriek. Cara looked upon this tableau with horror. She had meant to help the poor young man get peace, not put him in striking distance of condemning himself to an existence of constant pain and misery. She raised her gemstone before her, and shouted a Word of power, exercising her will upon the unruly spirit. A whirlpool of light emanated from the gem, wrapping itself about the spirit, and dragging him screaming back into the depths of the stone. Christopher fell bonelessly to the floor. Cara rushed back to check on Tyler Lamont, yelling to Mark "Check them for injuries! If he killed them, he'll never forgive himself!" She got to the unconscious police officer and checked him over for injuries, thanking her lucky stars that she had taken so many first aid classes. The officer had broken his fall with one of his arms; a patch of skin on his left forearm was swollen and hot to the touch. She gathered nearly all of her remaining power to herself, and channelled it into the officer's body, jump-starting his healing process, and helping him to revive. He came to with a start, and asked "What happened-" "Don't worry about it, Tyler. Suffice to say, I think those boys will be more likely to confess their crimes now." She helped him up, and they walked over to where Mark was laying both young men into the recovery position.

Two hours later, the two young men were indeed quite happy to confess to the police, especially once Cara explained that the flames and fury had come from the spirit of the young man they had killed, and the only thing that would keep him from coming for the two of them is if they seek and received their just reward for their evil acts. Cara allowed the spirit to leave the gemstone to witness the confession. "Thank you Cara" he sobbed when it was all over. "Thank you so much!" the ghost faded out of sight, and out of being. His reason for existing was complete, the purpose that drove him dispersed.

Two weeks after the confession, Cara got an interesting visitor. At the beginning of her evening, she found a man waiting seated at her table. He was a stocky man, dark-haired and -eyed. He was dressed in charcoal slacks, a sky blue button-down shirt. A charcoal blazer and fedora with a matching bright blue stripe hung on the wooden coat rack in the corner. "Good evening, Ms. Anderson. Met any nice spirits lately?" She walked hurriedly into the room to cover her hesitation, and seated herself across from him. "Can I help you, sir?" "I certainly hope that you can. My name is James Tyveck, and I work for the Saskatoon Police service. I'm putting together a group of, shall we say, people with special skills to help protect the people from supernatural threats." He looked meaningfully at her across the table. "From the report that officer Lamont turned in last week, I came here to make sure, and offer you a job. I happen to know, you see, that you aren't a huckster, aren't a fraud. Your messages from the dead to the living are real, and you can truly speak with and influence the departed. I would very much like for you to put those skills to work helping the people of this city." Cara stared at him, dumbfounded. "I didn't think the government of this city was ready to accept the existence of all the scary things that live in the dark." "Mostly it's just the chief of police, who recruited me. Now, I'm recruiting you. What do you say?" Cara looked down at her hands for a moment's thought. When she looked up, her decision was made. "I'll gladly help you with gathering information, but I'm not a fighter. If I've learned anything today, it's that I'm not the kind of person who confronts the bad guy." James smiled, "That's alright. I'll handle that part of things. If you can help us track the things that come into our town, that would be wonderful. I look forward to working with you, Cara Anderson." James stood, and took an item from his hip pocket, placing a shiny badge on the table. "Just a consultant's badge, but it should suffice for now. If you come across anything supernatural that might harm the people of this city, give me a call." He placed a business card with 'Detective James Tyveck' embossed in a crisp serif font upon it. If I find anything that I need you to look into, I'll call you. In the meantime," James stood and gathered his hat and jacket, "Have a great day, Ms. Anderson." With those final words, James Tyveck left her alone with her thoughts, and those were weighty thoughts indeed.


End file.
